Take this rhapsodic motif,

Take this rhapsodic motif,

It is neither use

Nor ornament

As old wives say

Tearing the guts out

Of a herring with a sharp knife,

Bury it in a shallow grave

Tightly sealed

In an old tin

One that used to hold cigars,

The smell still lingering,

Of beery taverns

And tar caulked timber,

Walk away

Without a second glance

Lest it follow

As it surely will

With or without

Your tacit agreement

Even as you turn

To take another drink

The weight

Of its oppression

Drags upon your shoulder

Pulling you

Gradually under

To keep it company

There is no strangeness

In wanting to be free

Of a recurring theme

When it is now

Less than blissful

To be caught up

In a dark wrangle

Lost in subterranean shadow

The flicker of an old flame

Once a partner

In dance

Snake wrestling

With smoke filled eyes

Every movement

Tightly held

Never abandoned,

A beggar

With a five pound note

In a rainstorm

Fear of letting go

Is sweet rhapsody

A painful symphony

Even as the ecstasy

Tears at the bars

Across your heart

One connotation at a time.